


what matters

by athdhea



Series: Prompts and Requests [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Idiots in Love, ft. lavellan's self esteem issues, lavellan doesn't know how to do feelings, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 09:02:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athdhea/pseuds/athdhea
Summary: "I think I'm falling in love with you."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for an anon on tumblr.

“There you are.” 

His voice comes as no surprise to Althea, but she feels her body tense, anyway. It’s the frustration in his voice, the exasperation, like he can’t believe she bloody ran off because she couldn’t win this argument.

(She could; she’s just too damned tired to. Her ears still ring with the warped humming of red lyrium; her limbs ache from battle and from travel; her chest still seizes with the memory of the bodies in the mine, blood mixing with the crystalline vermilion growing out of their chest. Althea is tired, and she just wanted to come home to Skyhold and sleep for a year.)

“I don’t want to talk to you.” As if that wasn’t clear from the fact that she had climbed onto the highest tower, hiding in the shadow of the Frostbacks because the library, or her quarters, were obvious enough places. “Leave me alone.” Althea’s voice is stilted, her own agitation simmering beneath each syllable. 

An annoyed huff leaves the Commander, but Althea doesn’t hear any retreating footsteps. “Oh, you don’t want to listen to me chastise you again? You don’t want to listen to me telling you how reckless you were?” On this isolated tower, away from the guards, from the scouts, Cullen doesn’t try to hold back. 

She almost turns around to punch him in the jaw; her clenched fists shake with the effort not to.

So, it’s this again, is it? 

“Does it matter if I’m reckless?” Althea does turn, a storm in her expression as she finally looks at the Commander. “The Breach is sealed, isn’t it? You don’t need me to defeat Corypheus.” Her chest heaves but her voice is steady, certain. “I’m sure you can just find someone else to be Inquisitor. It’s not like anyone knows who I am, anyway.” They’ve had this conversation before, haven’t they? When Althea was no more than a reluctant Herald, when she was just a figurehead, a prisoner with no chains.

She thought that had changed. Apparently, it hadn’t.

Cullen is silent, lips still parted with a retort. He almost shrinks away from her glare, and Althea takes a single moment to relish in that before she moves for the door.

“Do you truly believe that?” It’s said so quietly, she almost doesn’t hear him. Something shifts in his expression, the anger so quickly giving way to…something else. Something a little broken.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe.” Althea’s anger is still there, accompanied by something that feels an awful lot like resignation. 

“It does.” He takes a step toward her, and instinctively, Althea takes a step back. She’s trying very hard not to notice the hurt on Cullen’s face.

“Why? Why does it matter?” Her voice breaks with the weight of her exhaustion, her overwhelming sense of inadequacy. The night after a long journey is not the best time to tackle those feelings again.

“Because it’s not true.” It’s said softly, resolutely. “Because you’re—you’re not just the Inquisitor. Because you matter. To us.” Cullen pauses, and when Althea chances a furtive glance at him, she sees him struggling with his next words.

“To me.” His eyes meet hers, and—Althea doesn’t know what it is that she’s feeling. Like her ribs are tightening around her heart, a heart that’s beating too fast, like the wingbeats of a hundred doves. “Althea, I…I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Her eyes widen, and it’s the only response she can muster. Because her mind, already a maelstrom, takes this moment to politely decline to function. 

Cullen watches her, brows knotted together, his expression tender and hopeful and hurting all at once. But Althea still says nothing.

“I—I’m sorry.” His expression breaks, and he’s taking steps backwards, putting more distance between them. “I’m sorry,” he says again. Like he can’t bear to look at her any longer, Cullen turns, his shoulders hunched as he disappears behind into the stairwell.

Althea remains, unmoving, staring at the spot where the Commander had stood.


	2. running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Althea remembers why she locks her heart away; Cullen tries to change her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anon on tumblr, who really wanted a follow up.

It should be easy to brush this off. Losing her entire clan, spending so many years wandering alone, having to learn the hard way to guard herself, to guard her heart—it should have steeled her, turned her heart to stone. Althea might have never thought herself  _incapable_  of love, but she’s evaded its grasp for so long already that she believed (or  _wanted_  to believe) that she was nearly impervious.

She should have known, really. Should have recognized the way the very sight of him would send birds aflight in her chest; should have noticed the way her fears and anxieties would settle, quiet when he joins her to watch the stars on the battlements. She should have known when it was  _his_  voice, soft and scared, that kept her afloat after she’d collapsed in the snow, beyond the ashes of Haven.

Althea should have known. But she’d refused to.

Althea should have also known what that refusal might cost her.

It’s days later when Althea gathers the courage to find the Commander in his office, fingers closed tightly around the trim of her cloak to hide their tremble. When Cullen looks up at her and she sees the soft surprise in his expression, Althea foolishly thinks this would work out.

It doesn’t. 

“Please, Inquisitor.” Althea feels cold despite the warmth of her cloak. For a long time, Cullen had always called her by name, only referring to her by her title in front of the troops or the nobles, or sometimes in teasing. But when he said it then, it sounded definite. “I…apologize, again, for…what I had said. It was inappropriate and impulsive.”

The cold seeps into the marrow of her bones, into her veins. 

“I…ask that you disregard it.”

“’Disregard it’?” Her voice comes out a little strained, hoarse. Glass against her throat. “Did you change your mind?”

And despite the derisive intonation in her voice, Althea finds herself feeling—fear? Hurt?

Cullen regards her steadily, tension in his expression. Out of the corner of her eyes, Althea sees how tightly his hand holds the quill. 

“You’re the Inquisitor,” he says, quietly, “We’re at war.” There’s something in the strain on his face, the furrow of his brows; he speaks so resolutely, and Althea’s at first not certain  _whom_  he’s trying to convince. “It seemed—“ Cullen stops himself, swallows. “I…admire you. That admiration—I thought it meant something else. I was mistaken.”

That phrase? ‘The silence was deafening’? Althea always thought it was ridiculously cliched, that it oversimplified the tension in a situation. But now, she realizes; it’s terribly apt. 

She tries not to blame him, tries to tamp that awful, searing feeling in her heart. And though it feels as though something heavy and awful crushes her chest, Althea manages to respond. 

Her face is statuesque, unaffected,  _impervious_  as she nods. “I understand.”

Something might have changed in Cullen’s expression at the tone of her voice, but Althea doesn’t linger long enough to be certain. She leaves in silence, retreating to her quarters, and reminds herself why she’d never let herself get attached.

When Althea leaves for the Western Approach days later, it’s almost a welcomed reprieve. Fighting is a fairly potent distraction, she decides. Fighting Venatori, even better. If her companions notice that she’s a little more brutal than usual in battle, they say nothing. And when she returns, it’s with the skull of a dragon in tow, two re-broken and re-mended ribs, a claw-sized gash on her leg and a (surprisingly) minor burn on her right forearm.

No one scolds her for being reckless, this time.

She grimaces as she tugs off the armour, letting each piece clatter unceremoniously to the floor. Everything is still terribly, horribly sore, and it’s a miracle Althea manages to strip down to her leggings and chemise. She’s about to attempt shimmying out of her leggings when she hears the knock.

Frowning, Althea pauses before calling “come in,” as she tries to pull the leggings off her. If someone is going to disturb her after she’d  _just_  returned from such a long expedition, then they’re going to just have to  _deal_  with her disgruntled, undressed state.

Leggings successfully shucked, Althea has her hands around the hem of her chemise when her visitor finally crests at the stairs. 

He sputters, and Althea freezes.

The hem returns to its place at her hip, and Althea isn’t certain she’s breathing as she turns to face her visitor. He’s flushed, gaze averted as he hovers awkwardly at the top of the stairs.

“I—I’m sorry. I’ll come back another time—“

“What is it, Commander?” She snaps at him, the temper in her voice surprising even her. Really, though, can anyone really blame her? Her skin is, in spite of her armour, covered in a thick layer of grime and dust. Her limbs ache, dulled only by the utter exhaustion that weighs in her bones. The wound on her leg had reopened when she dismounted her hart, and she’s not entirely certain it’s stopped bleeding. She’s in, probably, the worst mood imaginable—and  _he_  is the last person she wants to see.

He struggles for a moment, eyes dropping to the bandages around her thigh. “I…the reports mentioned a dragon. And—your injuries—I wanted—are you—” 

Her arms cross over her chest, and Althea ignores the way that movement jars her sore ribs. “I’m fine. Vivienne healed the worst of my injuries.” She just barely remembers to keep her voice level, diplomatic, trying hard to keep the iciness from seeping into each syllable. 

Cullen nods, but he remains where he is, a deep crease between his brows. In the silvery light that pours through the windows, Althea can see the dark circles under his eyes, looking so much darker than the last time they had spoken. She can see the way his hands shake, even as he tries to hide it by laying them over the pommel of his sword. 

“Althea…” His voice is quiet, straining and hoarse. “I’m…what I said, when—“

Her head shakes, jaw clenching. “No.” 

The word startles him, and Cullen flinches.

“I believe that conversation came to a conclusion, Commander.” Little by little, the diplomacy is dropped from her voice. Because  _no_ , he doesn’t get to do this. What happened, happened; he doesn’t get to change his mind. 

“ _Please_ , Althea, I didn’t—I thought that—”

“Stop.” Small, trembling fists press against the side of her thighs, the breaths leaving her are shuddering, strained. 

The look on his face very nearly breaks her heart, try as she might to remember that her heart should sit behind a wall of iron. 

“ _Please_ ,” he says again, voice breaking. 

Althea forces her eyes close, but she doesn’t tell him to leave.  _Let him say his piece_ , she tells herself,  _let this be over. And move on._

“I’m sorry.”

The weight of it shudders through her. Althea’s eyes open to a man who can tower over her, whose presence normally thrums with such authority and strength, looking so shattered. 

His mouth opens, closes, and opens again, like he’s trying to find the right words. When Cullen finally speaks, he does so slowly, as though he’s trying to piece together his emotions like shards of a broken glass. “You are…the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met.” He’s breathless, earnest, voice quivering just slightly, looking like he wants to approach her, but terrified that it’ll push her away.

“When you—I thought that you didn’t—“ Cullen pauses again, as though he’s trying to order the chaos of his mind into a coherent sentence. “It seemed…too much to ask for, that you would feel the same.” A laugh leaves him, bitter and dry. “I thought that, if I told you I was wrong, then—perhaps you wouldn’t feel…burdened by it.”

_Oh._

Althea’s known attraction, before; she’s known desire, affection. It’s never become more than that—certainly, it’s never become something like  _this_. 

“I spent nearly half my life running from people,” she says, so suddenly that Cullen flinches again. “It made… _caring_  for anyone difficult.” Her gaze drops. “And anything more than that—that was a death wish.” 

Silence stretches, pulled taut like the string of a bow. Althea continues to stare, quite resolutely, at the floor, unable to look up even when she hears the footsteps approach her. 

“You’re not running anymore.” His voice is impossibly soft, pained, and when Althea finally looks up, she finds Cullen watching her with such tenderness that her heart aches.  

Something hums beneath her skin, flash fire behind a trepidation that, for so long, dictated every decision, every emotion. Fear twists in the pit of her stomach, but it’s accompanied by something else. The thrill of falling, knowing that something—some _one—_ will catch her before she hits the ground.

“You’re right, I’m not.” 


End file.
